Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“It was. A little treat every few months. I kept it up. But manicures are a waste in my line of work.”
“Makes sense.”
I pause for a beat, giving him a playful look. “Or maybe I just contain multitudes,” I add.
His lips curve up. “You sure do.”
Maggie returns and sets up a towel on the footrest. “Here you go.”
“And how’s little Carson?” I ask Maggie, the friendly, freckled woman who owns the shop now. It’s gone from generation to generation, like my farm.
“Aww, he’s great. Just started to crawl last week.”
“Watch out, Mama,” I say with a low whistle.
“Don’t I know it,” she says, then tells me about her little baby and all the milestones he’s hit. When she’s done, she squeezes my arm again and takes off as Sarah returns and sets up on a low stool. Another tech parks a stool at Banks’s feet.
I turn to my shadow. “My grandma’s bestie—Daisy—owned this shop, and then her son ran it, and now her son’s daughter runs it. Maggie,” I say, nodding toward the front counter, where Maggie’s set up on the computer.
“Family business. Nice,” he says warmly as the tech scrubs my feet with an exfoliating scrub. “That must be one of the things you like about this town?”
The earnestness of his question catches my full attention. “I do. I love that everyone looks out for each other,” I say, thinking of high school, when my parents died. My throat squeezes with emotion. It was fifteen years ago, and I can still remember the aftermath of their death clearly. Not just the day we got the terrible news, but the way the people of Darling Springs took care of Haven, my grandmother, and me.
I must be wearing my emotions on my face since Banks shifts in his chair, almost like he’s trying to shield me with his body. He can’t, of course. But I can feel it in the gesture. Like he’s trying to protect me from anyone listening in on the emotional moment as he asks quietly, “You okay?”
With sadness, I meet his dark-brown gaze, answering first with a sturdy nod. “I am. Just remembering when my parents died. It was like the whole town wanted to take care of us afterward.”
His expression is sympathetic, his tone solemn. “I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m glad you had people to comfort you.”
“Thank you,” I say, then look around toward the door and the street beyond. The businesses I know. The families I see every day. The stories they share. I look back at him. “Even though there are photogs in town for the movie and paparazzi now and tour groups, I don’t think I could leave. It’s weird, but it’s like the whole place became my family. Even when Haven left, I always felt like”—I pause, take a moment to collect my thoughts—“this was where I was supposed to be. I have good friends here,” I say, and before I know it, I’m telling him about Chloe and Bridget and even some of my new friends in Darling Springs. “Like this woman named Juliet who moved here recently. Well, she’s a part-timer. She lives and works in San Francisco.”
“Does that mean she feels like less a part of the town?”
I shake my head. “Oh, she’s one of us now. She’s brought a lot of business to Darling Springs. She and her hubs started hosting couples retreats here,” I say, enthused as I tell him more about the new kids. “They have this podcast all about romance and dating and such, so they host couples retreats at a house they were gifted by a listener who’s from here.”
“Juliet and Monroe, right?” he asks.
I blink, pull back. “You know them?”
“Not terribly well, but I was passing through town a year or so ago and ran into Monroe. Since then, I’ve listened to their show a few times.”
I smile. “Small world.”
He smiles too. “I suppose it is.”
“Do you know what they call their house here? The Horny House.”
Banks laughs. Big, deep, pleased. “Sounds like my kind of home.”
“It’s a fun place,” I say as the tech rubs hot stones along my calves. I sigh contentedly, enjoying the touch. “And you live in Los Angeles now, you said?”
“I do,” he says.
“Even though you grew up in Lucky Falls?”
“I did.”
He’s a little clipped when I ask about Lucky Falls. I’m not entirely used to that from the king of comebacks. Come to think of it, he didn’t say much about Lucky Falls yesterday, either, when he told me where he was from, only that it’s not a bad place. Does that mean he dislikes small towns? He didn’t sound that way a few minutes ago. But maybe there’s something about that place he doesn’t care for. “Are you a city guy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His expression darkens, like there’s a storm cloud over his head. “Anonymity is a good thing, I’ve found,” he says, a little evasively.